


Team Sassy Science

by SeaSongMountain



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Character Death, Gen, Implied Relationship, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:51:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaSongMountain/pseuds/SeaSongMountain
Summary: A bet. A death. A future.A friendship to be remembered.Team Sassy Science-centric.





	Team Sassy Science

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to whoever they belong to.  
> Non-native speaker happy to correct mistakes if you point them out!

“They are totally dating.” Beverly declared.

“Maybe they aren’t. Maybe they are just good friends. You don’t have to see two attractive guys and insist on shipping them to your little shipper heart’s content.” Brian mock-admonished her.

“Well, speaking as a homosexual with more than 30 years of dating expertise under my belt, I can safely say that there’s got to be something there.” Jimmy didn’t even look up from his beloved test tubes.

Beverly and Brian turned to look at the two subjects of their conversation, who remained oblivious in Jack’s office, heads bowed close together in deep discussion.

No other pair can appear more divergent in their appearances. 

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, MD, PsyD, former surgeon, current psychiatrist, lover of all High Arts, socialite, and minder of one Will Graham. With his hair immaculately styled, shoes impossibly polished, manner so precise and posture so correct, and style somehow flamboyantly understated in his plaid and paisley three-piece suits with matching ties and handkerchiefs. 

And then there was Will Graham, unstable FBI profiler, hoarder of dogs, avid fisherman, user of atrocious aftershave, and charge of one Hannibal Lecter. With a head of messy curls, a closet of flannels and dog hair, habitual slouch and downcast eyes, and an air that somehow screams fragile mind, adorable puppy and killer vibes at the same time. 

Brian insisted. “Look, I’m not female or gay, so I might be very wrong. But even I know that would be a severe breach of doctor-patient boundaries.”

Beverly corrected him. “I think Jack called them friendly conversations.”

Jimmy still hasn’t parted from his test tubes. “Which are probably getting friendlier than he thinks.”

“What did I think?” Jack startled them; and really the implied question mark could have been an exclamation point for all its abruptness. For such a large man, he could be uncharacteristically quiet sometimes.

Beverly salvaged it masterfully. “That Dr. Lecter is good for Will.”

Jack, surprisingly, paused to consider and reply. “Yes, he is much more stable now.” 

Jack’s concern may be surprising. But well, Will’s mental state was important for the case. For Jack, that meant not broken. And Dr. Lecter seemed to do patching up quite well.

As Jack turned the corner to his office, all three techs breathed out a silent sigh of relief. With Jack’s continual obsession with the Chesapeake Ripper and his frustration at not having the current killer in custody yet, no one wanted to be the focus of BAU’s top bull dog. Not that one ever did.

Silence reigned for all of thirty seconds. Then Brian opened his mouth.

“You sure it’s thirty years of dating expertise, Zeller? Not thirty years of tried-and-failed experimentation?”

Beverly sighed and watched her lab devolve into a case of playground crush of Brian pulling on Jimmy’s metaphorical pigtails. But they would be cute together, she mused. If only Brian could realize it himself. 

“I would put ten bucks on this” Bev insisted, interrupting whatever passive aggressive banter that passes as flirtation between them.

“Five in agreement.” Jimmy agreed, swirling his test tubes, “You gonna give us something to win, Zeller?”

Brian shot back. “Fifteen on them not being or going to be a couple at any point of time, just so you have that little sliver of hope.” 

She watched them devolve into petty old couple squabbling again, thinking fondly that she would soon be able to collect that Brian-Zeller bet from that tech downstairs. Pity that Gina from finances wouldn’t bet against her. Worth it to find another shipper who sees romance in the dreary and often disturbing workplace though.

~~~~~~~~~~~

And then Will became the Copycat Killer. 

He accused Hannibal.

And her inner shipper screeched as the happy vision died and took a turn for darker angst.

Truthfully, she did not know who to believe. She did not want to believe. She hoped that they were both wrong. 

But the evidence was pretty irrefutable. He vomited up the poor girl’s ear for god’s sake! The lawyers and Alana were focusing on convincing him to take the incompetence plea. Jack, Jack just did not care so much about Will as he does about his own failure.

She cared. A lot. Not for her vision, but for Will. Defenseless and overwhelmed Will stuck in that horrible place with oily Chilton. 

She shuddered. Now that was an annoying and pompous little man, who might turn downright vile with Will in his hands and fame on his mind.

She resolved to visit as much as she can and lend a listening ear if not a helping hand.

So she visited. Too bad she had to come bringing cases, like a mockery of get-well flowers. She might have said that Dr. Lecter is the “new Will Graham”. But the truth remains that he wasn’t. Nobody was. And really, it was too much to ask of anybody. Still, there were cases to be investigated, Jack to be appeased, and excuses for visiting.

She agreed to investigate Dr. Lecter for Will. Not that she was sold on the whole “Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper and the Copycat Killer and he has been framing me for all *my* murders” thing. But because she thinks that it would be good for Will, to know that someone is in his corner. If nothing else, her investigations should be able to put Will’s suspicions to rest and let him focus on getting better.

She did not expect this.

Dressed in dark and inconspicuous clothing, she snuck into Dr. Lecter posh house, highly illegally she might add, to take a sample from Dr. Lecter’s fridge. Really, the things she’s do for her OTP and Will’s puppy eyes. She did not find much, nothing out of ordinary. Or to say nothing too extraordinary for the slightly peculiar psychiatrist.

And that’s when she knocked over the fancy bottle of liquid that she can’t even identify. Posh cooks and their condiments! A surge of adrenaline made her stand stock still, heart thumping in chest, head cocked to listen for disturbances. It also made her supremely aware of a dripping sound, which came from directly under her, where…it is not supposed to be.

Something in her shifted then. Perhaps it was the atmosphere, or the eerie silence, or the enormity of what she is doing finally catching up to her. But a basement where there is not supposed to be one, and yes she checked blueprints before breaking and entering, unbelievably lent some stock to Will’s theory. A lot of stock.

She drew her gun, took a deep soundless breath, and went forth.

And then she saw. A reflection of the devil.

Who was standing behind her.

Oh God.

They stood still for a breathless second. 

He moved like a viper. 

She fired into the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~  
Brian flashed his badge and checked in as usual on this bright Monday morning. A coffee in hand and science on his mind, he made his way for the lab. Regular Monday, regular Price, regular test tubes doing well. Well Bev wasn’t in yet. But occasionally she did run late for her daily dose of caffeine. Everything regular and normal as usual.

Even Jack stopping by so early was normal as well, if not regularly often on Mondays. After all, serial killers and crime scenes waited for no one. He should be very glad that nothing came up during the weekends. Or Price would be yelling at him for the hangover he inflicted upon them both on Sunday via a vicious bout of bar-hopping. Well, not yelling, more like fierce whispering helped along with gulps of water and two aspirins. 

Except that Jack paused. Jack almost never paused. 

He got a bad feeling. A very BAD feeling.

Last time, Miriam Lass went missing.

“It’s Katz.”

Faintly, he heard Price’s test tubes crash to the ground. An instinctual part of his mind worried about the possible contamination.

Oh God.

They went. As fast as they could. Fuck the regulations. 

They went. It’s Bev.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jimmy, for the second time in his life, hesitated outside the doors. The first time was his first scene. Since then, he has developed a cast-iron stomach. Nothing much fazed him these days, not throat cellos, not bees, not even soup. Seriously, he and Brian should take a sample of the water one of these days. Bev would have been interested. Christ, Bev.

Jimmy knew that he was a bit hysterical. Zeller waited quietly beside him. Or maybe he didn’t want to go in either. But they had to. They needed to. They owed it to Katz.

She was in pieces. Sliced up like an exhibition in a Body Museum.

He controlled himself. Went to work. And hated himself more than ever for not being to find a fingerprint.

He checked. Obsessively. Three times. 

He was in the middle of a fourth sweep when asked to leave the room. 

So Jimmy left, stripped his gloves, and scrubbed his hands. Almost clinically.

He then saw the van in the parking lot, and understood who they were clearing the room for.

He was, well acquaintances with Will Graham. Brian slightly disliked him as he did all profilers, maybe a bit more than all other profilers even, for making jumps that he couldn’t understand or explain by hard science. Bev, though, Bev cared. Perhaps it was because of her autistic sister, who they never met but heard plenty about, or because Will Graham’s air of vulnerability aroused motherly feelings in all women, or just because she has always been a genuinely nice person even with all the evil and darkness they witness on a daily basis. Had. She had been.

He was suddenly fiercely glad that Jack managed to get Graham here. It didn’t matter that he was still in BSHCI under suspicion of being the Copycat Killer. It didn’t matter that he didn’t really know the guy. It didn’t matter that the said guy had encephalitis and was probably still crazy. He was the best. He had to be able to see something, read something that Jimmy couldn’t find with his magnifying glasses.

He fumbled for cigarettes in the car. He didn’t smoke, not really. They were generally kept for emergencies, when a witness or first responder needed something to keep calm. He fumbled for them now, fingers heavy with still blood and impotent anger. He dropped them.

Brian picked them up. Jimmy didn’t know how long he might have been watching. He didn’t ask.

They shared a pack of cigarettes. Silently in the parking lot.

Bev had bought that particular pack.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at BAU, Jack felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Another death, another failure, another burden, another loss for him to bear. Katz might as well be tied to his personal cross, his book of sins, along with Miriam Lass. Another mockery from the Chesapeake Ripper. Another reason that this war was personal as ever.

Katz’s body was being processed. Not by Zeller and Price.

He wouldn’t be able to swing that. He wasn’t sure if they could do it, anyway. He was not often an emotional man at work, except for a general regard for human life. But the thought of her on a cold slab in the labs that she used to walk still put a heavy piece of lead in his heart.

He managed to convince Purnell into letting them handle the scene. They needed it, he supposed. He didn’t know if it was the wise choice. He managed to keep the Ripper case too.

Will’s voice sounded in his head. His conviction echoing.

Work stopped for no one. He pulled up the file, emailed a fancy friend for her social diary, and went to check out the dates.

He made sure he was on the invitation list for the next dinner party.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian and Jimmy checked out the contents of Jack’s box. It wasn’t human flesh. It was Wagyu.

They were not sure about this “Hannibal Lecter is the Ripper” idea. But they were glad that there was a suspect at all.

It was out of their hands anyway. Brian and Jimmy only did the investigative side. Baiting, luring, and capturing was out of their league.

Whoever it would be, however it would end, they only hoped that the Chesapeake Ripper would be caught. Dead or alive. Jailed or executed.

So they waited. And hoped. And went to Bev’s grave every year.

It took a lot longer than they had hoped. But it happened. Lots of things happened.

They went to Bev’s grave after Lecter was caught.

They went to Bev’s grave after Lecter escaped.

They went to Bev’s grave after Lecter and Graham’s cliff dive. They didn’t mention the ten dollar bet they had.

And life went on.

Always another test to run, always another killer to catch, always another class to teach. They always put a great deal of emphasis on letting your partners know your position, on bringing backup, on techs staying in labs instead of taking risks. They sent off batch after batch of bright-eyed bushy-tailed cadets to face the darkness in the world, to do what they could. They lived, and they slowly healed.

Gina watched. And remembering that turned down bet all these years ago, she hoped.

 

 

(1) I am aware that Maryland abolished the death penalty in 2013. But I have no idea when the show supposedly took place. The first season premiered before that particular bill though. And I imagine Brian and Jimmy would want the Chesapeake Ripper to pay. That's why I wrote "jailed or executed".

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Second fic done! 
> 
> I am a little unsatisfied with the ending. But it's been sitting around forever and I had no new ideas on how to change it. Decided to post it like ripping off a band-aid! Hope you guys enjoyed it.


End file.
